Seducing Master Salmalin
by Wild Magelet
Summary: Complete. DaineNumair fluff. It's Midsummer's Eve and everyone in Tortall is enjoying the romance and passion in the air. Everyone, it seems, except Daine. If only a certain mage wasn't being so darn noble...
1. Part One

**A/N: **I'm really really sorry that I haven't updated Spirits Cry for so long. I don't even really expect people to remember it! :) I had uni essays and exams and after that, I could hardly write my own name, lol. But I'm starting to get back into it now, and the next chapter is coming. This is Part One of a short, really silly fic that I'm writing to try and get over writer's block! Haven't written anything for ages, so if it's terrible, I'm sorry!

**Disclaimer: **All of Tamora Pierce's characters and places belong to her and the title is taken from Julia Quinn's Romancing Mister Bridgerton.

* * *

"Good Midsummer's Eve to ye, Mistress!" 

The cheerful greeting floated up to the ivy-draped window, high above the northern turrets. The response below went unheard, drowned in a volley of giggles and ballads. Joyful voices met and mingled, like the brushing of silk skirts in a dance. It was the height of Midsummer, the time in which all love – courtly and illicit alike – delighted. Tortallans, brimming with lasting passion and fleeting lust, lined the paths and swooned among the rose gardens, taking advantage of the full moon's light and the clouds' shadows. The music of fiddle strings wove in the air, carrying the warm breath as it drifted from Carthak and Tyra. It was many songs since the supper hour, but the palace had by no means bedded down for the night.

Well…

Barely aware of the revelry and laughter beyond her chamber, Daine was nonetheless taking full enjoyment in the season's spirit. She shivered, arching up as large hands slid gently beneath her shirt. Brown fingers paused briefly against her ribs, then flexed, tickling and teasing. Jackknifing upright, she pulled them away from her body, laughter gasping from her lips. Numair smiled against her neck and broke the hold to cup her face, stroking disheveled smoky curls from one bare shoulder. Bending his dark head to the silky skin there, he nuzzled her lightly and trailed a generous line of warm kisses back to her impatient mouth. Daine ran her hands up his back, gripping his shoulders and wondering when exactly she'd removed his robes. Then all logical thought fled her mind as she enthusiastically returned the embrace.

"Love you, magelet," Numair murmured, voice slightly slurred with desire, those ever-wondrous words barely audible. His dark eyes opened for a moment, burning into her own.

In answer, she pulled him back down to the covers, bestowing an increasingly fervent kiss upon him. He laughed raggedly at her insistence, shaking his head in mock-reproof when their fingers clashed on her buttons. They removed the tiresome outer garment together, tossing it with great ceremony to the floor. Chest heaving for breath, Daine looked up at her love - braced on his arms above her, belly against hers. Only the merest scraps of material separated their flesh.

She smiled with satisfaction.

Numair's fingertips were shaking, she realised, as he reached to touch her cheek. Pressing his forehead against hers, he inhaled several times, trying to maintain control.

"Daine? Are you sure about this, love?"

The question was husky and tentative, wonder and worry battling for victory.

Daine palmed his jaw, unflinchingly meeting his gaze.

"Only with you," she answered quietly, seriously. "I'm always sure with you."

He ducked his head for a moment; then kissed her suddenly, with an urgency that took her by surprise and delight. His caressing touch began to meander down her throat, toward the edge of the shielding breastband. Daine leaned back, enjoying the familiar woodsy scent and betraying tremors of his skin. Her lashes fluttered closed, and it was some moments before the stillness of his long form registered.

Confused, she looked up.

Numair was flushed and miserable suddenly, seemingly focused on something in her…frontal area. She dropped her chin in horror, checking to make sure that things were still where they'd been when she'd dressed that morning.

And almost groaned aloud when she saw what the mage held clutched in his fist.

Her charm against pregnancy.

Reason and annoyance penetrated Daine's love-fogged brain as she finally recognized that particular facial expression. Guilt.

Gently, he laid the neckpiece back against her chest and sat up, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. He still wasn't looking at her. He'd pulled away from her, she thought, scowling, as if she had breath like Jon's hounds!

Numair shoved his hands back through loosened hair and took several deep breaths. Aware of the tense silence, he forced himself to meet her mutinous gaze.

"Sweetling," he began heavily, reaching for her curled fingers.

Daine snatched them out of reach. "Not again," she stated crossly, soured passion quickly becoming frustrated resignation.

"Daine, I love you. Goddess bless, sweet, I love you so much." Numair shook his head, dark eyes pained. "But we can't do this. Not yet. It isn't right."

"It felt right to me!" she protested, aware of her petulant tone but unable to do anything about it. "Why can't we, for Mithros' sake?"

He started to reply and she cut him off sharply. "But then, I know why, don't I? We've been through this already. It's becoming fair maddening, Numair!"

"You don't think I agree? Magelet, I want more than anything to express how much I…" His voice trailed off, then hardened with resolution. "But I will not have you exposed to that brand of gossip."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I've survived a return trip to the Realms of the Gods! And a battle to the death with Ozorne. Even an encounter with Uusoae. Shakith help me if I succumb to a few vicious tongues!"

Numair was beginning to get angry himself. "It would be more than a _few_ and you have no idea how unpleasant your life at Court could become! If people were to discover that you had lain with me –outside of wedlock, no less - your reputation would be shredded to as many strips as mine."

"I don't care!"

"Well, I do," he snapped. "Nobody is going to hurt or humiliate you while I have the power to prevent it."

Daine's lips opened to utter an angry retort, then snapped shut again. Exhaling loudly and pointedly, she glared.

Numair's stubborn look softened. Reaching out, he ran a lingering hand over her hair, lightly touching the side of her face.

"We appear to be at a stalemate, sweet one," he sighed, shrugging in resignation. "You are not yet ready for matrimony…and I have to accept that," he added quickly, watching warily as her frown deepened. "I _do _accept that, Daine. I would never put pressure on you to do something you aren't comfortable with. I would hope that you would extend the same courtesy to me."

The scowl slipped from Daine's face and a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. Shaking her head, she reached to clasp his wrist. "D'you know how irritating you are when you're being _reasonable_?" She uttered the word as if it were one of George's curses.

"Irritating? Me?" Numair tugged a curl. "But I'm perfect. Who could help loving me?" he teased.

Daine snorted.

"I guess I can't...even though you're sending me mad."

"Magelet," Numair's fingers traced down her nose, his thumb tugging on her lower lip, parting it a little. He kissed her warmly. "The feeling is entirely mutual."

* * *

Daine rubbed the smudges beneath her eyes with a lazy hand and sat down heavily at the table. She'd barely slept; the giggling whispers of happy twosomes – human, bird and beast – managing to penetrate even her rudely slammed window. 

Alanna looked up in surprise, tearing a bread loaf in her hands and reaching for the butter ladle.

"What's got your britches in a knot this morning?" the Lioness enquired, arching one copper eyebrow.

Daine looked at her suspiciously. She was smiling, despite her blunt question, and a pretty flush stained her cheeks. Alanna, in fact, was fair glowing.

Scooting around in her chair, Daine caught sight of George Cooper's departing back as he near _skipped_ from the dining hall.

Torn between awkwardness and envy, she bit her lip and reached for a bowl of whipped oats – horse food, Numair would say scathingly.

"My britches are fine, thank you," she muttered.

"Not torn off in a fit of Midsummer passion then?" Alanna's voice was casual.

Daine choked on her first mouthful of oats, as Thayet and Onua appeared either side of her. The queen blinked and carefully flicked a white globule from her bodice.

"It can't taste that terrible, surely," she said, looking doubtfully at Daine's platter.

"Alanna!"

Her friend was unrepentant. "Sorry," she offered, not sounding in the least sincere. "I've discovered that frankness is the best way of learning the truth."

Onua looked from one to the other. "What truth is this?"

Alanna sighed, licking butter from her fingers and folding her arms. "Numair's still being noble."

Daine's cheeks flamed and she stared at the older woman indignantly, too flustered to deny it.

"Ah," Onua nodded, polishing an apple on her tunic.

Thayet shook her head sympathetically. "You could always put the poor man out of his misery, Daine. Marriage isn't entirely the horror you seem to believe. Of course, it has its moments. Such as when your husband decides to undertake a diplomatic visit at the height of Midsummer," she added darkly.

"I don't think it would be horrible," Daine protested, rather miserably. "It isn't that, it's just…"

"She's not ready yet," Onua pronounced firmly. "Mare bless, she's only seventeen."

"Plenty old to be wed," Thayet argued lightly. Then she smiled. "But you'll know when it feels right, Daine." A wicked grin crossed the Royal's face. "It clearly isn't the…physical side of matrimony that concerns you however."

Daine groaned aloud and dropped her hot face into her hands. Goddess bless, this was worse than talking to her Ma!

Onua frowned. "Numair's right to be concerned about palace gossip, Daine. You've seen what it's done to other women before you."

Alanna shoved back loose strands of hair with impatient hands. "There are already rumours. Half the ladies in court have had you in bed with Numair since you first arrived," she uttered in disgust, before flashing a mirthful smile. "I've even heard of you being linked with George."

Thayet and Onua both laughed at Daine's expression.

"Oh, come on, George isn't _that_ bad!" Alanna teased.

Daine just shook her head, too mortified to speak.

"Whoever would have thought we'd be talking about _Numair_ like this?" Thayet wondered aloud then patted her bristling friend apologetically.

"It's different now," Onua spoke up, her deep eyes searching Daine's face.

"He loves her," Alanna finished quietly.

"Then there's only one thing for it," the Queen said slowly, a gleam passing over her beautiful face.

Daine watched them with trepidation, already shaking her head in refusal.

"Don't look so worried. I can assure you that it's really rather enjoyable."

"What is?"

Thayet smiled slyly.

"Seduction."


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable people and places belong to Tamora Pierce.

**A/N:** I'm so sorry I haven't been updating; things have been crazy (new uni year, new job, trying to get things sorted for an overseas trip) but everyone was really nice to review on Part I of this story and to read _Spirits Cry_, so I'm sorry I've been terrible with the updates. I know this is a really silly story, but I'm hoping I'll be able to move past writer's block with it! I have started the next chapter of _Spirits Cry_ too, so if anyone remembers it, I'll have that one up soon. One more part of this to come, with the actual seduction attempt. )

* * *

The marketplace smelled like whisky and thyme. Daine planted her hands on her hips, scratched her nose restlessly and looked around in consternation. In a hurry to get this gods-awful mission over with, she'd forgotten to change her shirt, which bore remnants of marmoset fur and cat spittle. Not that anyone seemed to be looking at her askance. Nobility mingled with peasant-folk in the market and everyone was coated with a thin sheen of yellow dust from the road. Ignoring the flattering wheedles of nearby peddlers she considered simply making a bolt for it…and would have done so, had Alanna and Onua not been attempting to spy on her. Rolling her eyes as Alanna's red head darted back behind a wooden charm stall, Daine gave up on her public manners and groaned aloud. The jovial atmosphere was only making her feel more cross. She'd never felt so uncomfortable in all her fair-blessed life and that was the honest truth. This was even worse than the time she'd first asked Numair to make her pregnancy charm, unaware that Jon was well within earshot.

A weight smacked down on her shoulder and she jumped, whirling about and dropping into Alanna's best defensive stance.

The elderly peddler smiled at her, charmingly but toothlessly, from a wizened face. Daine groaned, her hand dropping harmlessly from her bow.

"Mornin' pretty laidy," the woman said hopefully. "You be wantin' some o' my wares this fine day, yes?" She thrust a tray of completely unidentifiable objects into Daine's face. The girl shook her head quickly, backing away.

"No. Thanking you, but no."

Another market-seller ingratiated her way forward. This one was younger, perhaps the age Daine's Ma would be now, with thick black hair in a dirty coil atop her head. "She is a pretty one, ain't she? You be lookin' for some o' my scented oils to turn yer fella's head, I'll bet! Proper Tyran scents, they are, miss. 'E'll be all over yer like Carthaki pig rash."

Daine blinked. Somehow she doubted this was what her friends had meant.

Another oddly shaped bottle appeared before her nose. "Pa's Own Liniment For A Balding 'ead?"

"Nay. Thank you."

"Juice O' Spidren For Rotting Teeth?"

"No."

"Hair O' Weiryn For An Extra Foot?"

_What?_

"No!" Daine threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't want any of those things! And you shouldn't just grab on to people either. I'm a trained mage, you could've got hurt!"

Both women eyed her doubtfully.

Then comprehension seemed to dawn on the elder's face. She nodded understandingly and rummaged for a small vial. "Spit O' Thieves For Delusions of Grandeur?"

Daine glared.

"I'm wanting…" She pulled out the piece of parchment and read from Thayet's tiny scratched handwriting. "Arrowroot. D'you hold any of that?"

Identical grins spread across the gleeful faces of her unwanted companions.

"Ah," said one.

"I see," chuckled the other.

"It's arrowroot you be wantin'? Well, my Ma always said there ain't nothing like arrowroot for putting a spring in a fella's…step."

Daine's face flamed for the tenth time in as many hours.

"D'you have it or not?" she asked testily.

"Oh, aye, Mistress," the first peddler agreed, pulling a small packet from the folds of her cloak. "But you be wantin' to be careful with this. Could be dangerous, y'know."

Daine paused in the act of handing over a coin.

"Dangerous?"

"Aye," the younger woman agreed, cackling as she pulled back her shawl to reveal the tiny, contented face of a grubby babe. "Dangerous."

Daine shoved the arrowroot into her pack and wondered idly how much punishment would be involved were she to murder her queen.

* * *

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." The man was beginning to sound a little affronted. He scratched his nose and smoothed a slick grey moustache with one large finger.

Daine peered warily down at the goblet, before sniffing it again. Her head jerked back. It didn't smell like ale, to be sure, but… Her face twitched and she grimaced.

"It doesn't smell innocent to me," she stated flatly.

"Madam." The 'Purveyor of Fine Refreshments' drew himself up in a way that would have been impressive, had the lace of his breeches not broken. "I can assure you, there are no spirits in that cider. Merely the juices of pomegranates – the finest that can be obtained in Tortall, my dear woman, and well-scripted for their healing, rejuvenating and aphrodisiac qualities."

He then had the nerve to wink at her.

And she didn't like the sly edge to his eyes.

Starting to hand the bottle back, Daine shook her head. "I don't think…"

"Aren't you done yet? Honestly, Daine, I thought you loathed shopping." Alanna grabbed her elbow, almost dislodging the doubtful pomegranate cider.

"I do loa…"

"Have you paid for this?" Barely pausing for breath, Alanna tossed a handful of coppers at the smirking keeper. She held the mixture aloft with great ceremony.

"The final ingredient," she announced happily. And loudly.

Daine covered her eyes with her hand. A spidren attack would be wondrous right about then…

"Come, Onua wants you back at the stables by the lunching hour to help with the Riders. And I've already organized the music."

_Music?_

Oh, Shakith.

* * *

Numair rubbed his thumbs over his eyes and tossed down the quill. Black ink splattered across the fresh parchment and he frowned, otherwise not bothering to move. He was expecting several students before the supper meal and his latest bout of research was going sadly neglected, but it was no good. His mind was entirely filled with Daine.

He understood her frustration with him – Mithros, he shared her frustration! Numair's mouth curved in a grimace. Who in the kingdoms would have believed that he of all people would fall into strife for _not_ seducing a young woman?

But this was different. _She_ was different. She was…Daine.

And he would not - could not - see her attacked. Only with words, perhaps, but he knew well the power of malicious gossip. He didn't doubt that his magelet could defend herself, but the way in which she was like to do it – fists and feet first - would no doubt cause trouble in itself.

Numair smiled faintly. Life with Daine had thus far proved to be an interesting combination of fresh grey hairs and enough conflict to keep him perpetually young at heart.

He was brought out of his reverie by the rude arrival of the King's Champion.

Expecting the polite knock of an intimidated youngster, Numair fair jumped out of his skin as the redhead stormed in, slamming the door behind her.

A glass amphora splintered across the floor boards and the mage winced. That skin renewal potion had been the product of several weeks' work.

"Greetings, Alanna," he said dryly, "Please. Fling my doors about as much as you wish."

"You bleeding jackanapes."

"I beg your pardon?" Numair stared at her.

The knight folded both arms across her chest and raised one winged brow.

"Daine," she stated succinctly.

Leaning back in his chair, Numair gazed at the soiled papers before him with studied detachment.

"What about Daine?" he inquired casually, inwardly wincing.

Alanna plunked herself down in the only other seat the room offered. Numair glanced up and rolled his eyes.

"Pray, milady, sit down," he offered sarcastically.

Choosing to ignore the feeble rejoinder, Alanna shook her head at him. The Lioness' face was a curious blend of exasperation and pity. The mage didn't particularly care for either emotion.

"I presume you have something to complain about, Alanna," Numair sighed, watching his fingers as they formed a steeple. "But I'm very busy this evening, so please commence carping."

His friend's reply was both unexpected and alarming.

"You're going to lose her, you know." Alanna's voice was soft, despite the sharpness of her eyes.

He looked up quickly, meeting her gaze. "And why do you say that?" There was an urgency behind the indifference of his tone.

Alanna blew out her cheeks with a long expulsion of air. "I never thought I'd be lecturing _you_ on the dangers of a noble resolve, Numair." She hastened past his frowning countenance. "I know a lot of things…concern you about your relationship with Daine. And I know that you worry about her."

A cord in Numair's jaw jumped but he remained stonily silent.

"But you have to be careful, you must see that." The Lioness looked hesitant and quite out of character. "In your desire to protect Daine, you may end up pushing her away."

"Alanna." His voice was firm and uncompromising. "I will not have her exposed to court gossip."

"Numair," Alanna retorted, beginning to lose her reserve, "She's already exposed to court gossip! Eyes about the palace have been checking Daine's waistline for signs of unwitting growth since she was ought but a child – as I'm sure you're aware!"

The mage's eyes reflected his bitter disgust. "I would never have touched her as a child, Alanna."

"Of course you wouldn't have. But you love her and you barely touch her now," came the serious response. "And she's no longer a child, Numair."

Alanna paused, watching the quandary in the man's expressive eyes. Then, mentally excusing herself under the justification of friendship, she embellished, "And other men have noticed, even if you have not."

Numair jerked to face her. "What? Which men?" he demanded, brows scoring together crossly.

Alanna stared blankly back, mind racing. "Daine's a beautiful young woman. Men see that. One in particular," she lied without shame.

"_Who_ in particular? Has someone been bothering her, Alanna?" Numair looked furious. And, the Lioness noted gleefully, rather perilously jealous.

"Hmm, I'm not sure of his name," she murmured, peeking from the corner of her eye. "Dark hair, tall, good rider...fond of animals…I think he may be one of your students."

The outrage was obvious.

"Look." Alanna got to her feet. "Daine's isn't like the court vipers. She has pride and she won't beg for your love."

"She knows I love her," he protested stiffly.

"Perhaps, but she must wonder if you don't somehow find that love unnatural. Seeing as how you seem ashamed to express it."

"This is really none of your business, Alanna," Numair returned flatly, face closing off.

"No, it isn't," she agreed readily. "But I don't like seeing the people I care about hurting. And I don't want to see you make the largest mistake of your life."

Another interruption at the door came, this one, however, in the guise of a hesitant knock.

"Pardon me, Master Salmalin, sir," the swarthy young man stammered, awed eyes on Alanna's famed figure. "You asked me to come at five?"

"I'm just leaving," Alanna announced cheerfully. Leaning forward on the desk, she placed her lips close to Numair's ear. "Daine would like to speak with you after supper. In her quarters at sundown. I suggest you think about what I've said."

Ignoring the mage's sharp look, the redhead smiled breezily at the goggling student and left. As she closed the heavy door behind her, she heard the pitching tones of the youngster as he apologized for his lateness.

"I was caught up in the stables, sire, I'm sorry."

A sudden silence and then: "The stables? _Fond_ of animals then, Dawkins?"

Alanna grinned heartlessly.


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the books belongs to Tamora Pierce.

**A/N: **I can't believe how helpful and supportive everyone was after the second part of this story. I've missed the TP fandom; I think the D/N shippers are the nicest on the net. _Hugs everyone who loves D/N!_ Thank you so much, seriously, for everyone's who stuck with reading my stuff, when I've become one of the worst people at updating! I don't think I've ever been this busy in my life, but I miss writing too, and I've got a six week holiday coming up in a couple of months. So I'm aiming to have updated _Spirits Cry_ before then, but to finish it during that time. Heaps of hugs and thanks to everyone who read this, but especially to:

_**Elementalmoon**_

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I really, really appreciated all of your reviews, and I hope I didn't miss anyone there:) Thanks again!

* * *

Daine gazed at the heavy wooden door of her chamber, and wondered if it would be utterly cowardly to slide the bolt across. She could just lock the door, crawl into bed – _alone_ – and feign sleep until dawn. Numair would go away eventually, and her friends might never know… 

And likely, Numair never touch her again, and she'd grow into an old, grey, maiden lady.

She left the bolt alone, and dropped into Kitten's favourite – and temporarily vacated – chair, smiling half-heartedly at a field mouse as it skittered past. Shadows were starting to creep into the room; the light a vibrant red. It was nearly sundown. Daine's stomach roiled nervously, and she cursed Alanna aloud. Aye, it'd been Thayet's idea, but the Lioness had taken it to it with a revolting fervor, in her opinion.

It wasn't the notion that their grand plan might succeed that worried Daine. It was the almost certainty that it would not, and that she was about to make an almighty fool of herself, that was prodding moths into flight in her belly.

A polite knock sounded, and Daine fair deposited her luncheon on the floor. She hadn't been able to face supper – or Numair. Goddess bless, her hands were shaking. She shook her head in self-disgust and climbed reluctantly to her feet. Hauling in a wobbly breath, she pasted an unconvincing smile on her face and pulled the door ajar.

The smile fell from her face.

"Oh!" She blinked at the man before her. He was tall and dark, and very handsome indeed, but he wasn't the one she loved. "Can I…help you?"

The young courtier beamed at her appreciatively. "Mistress Sarrasri?" he questioned, natural shyness slipping into masculine appreciation as his eyes scanned her tumbled curls and simple gown.

Daine blushed slightly, tugging at the silken cloth. She was dressed for the gaze of another, and felt inexplicably embarrassed by the man's presence. "Yes, I'm Daine Sarrasri."

"It's an honour to meet you, Mistress," he told her sincerely, reddening at her instinctive request to be addressed as 'Daine'. There was something rather familiar about his face, she realised, as the original surprise began to recede. He continued, "Please forgive my impudence in approaching you thus, but Onua has requested that I relay news to you."

That was it – she'd seen him before, in the stables. Concern immediately crumpled Daine's brow. "Is there a problem with the horses?" she questioned anxiously.

"Oh, no," the man assured her. "Rhinehold's Lady has just birthed a very bonny foal, but both are doing just fine. Onua spoke of your concern for the mare; she was adamant that you should be informed; that your mind should be put at ease."

Daine frowned. She _had_ been concerned about Rhinehold's Lady, who had been lethargic for several days, but why would Onua send a busy courtier to her _bedchamber_, for mage's sake? She was thrilled about the foal, but there was no danger. The news could've waited till morning.

"Master Salmalin, sire!"

The deferential greeting made her jump. Turning in surprise, Daine saw Numair standing at a short distance, gazing at her visitor in disbelief. As she watched, the shock leached from his face, to be replaced with a stony anger that he rarely expressed. A dangerous glint lit his dark eyes.

"Dawkins," Numair returned coldly. "How unexpected to find you here…outside Mistress Sarrasri's bedchamber."

Daine's eyebrows shot up. He couldn't be implying that…

The simmering fury in the mage's stare was not lost on the younger man. Dawkins took a wary step back, glancing hastily from one to the other.

"I was…asked to relate to Daine…" He trailed off momentarily as Numair scowled. "Er…Mistress Sarrasri…news from the stables, Master Salmalin. Sire."

"Indeed." Numair's voice was frostier than ever.

Dawkins gulped audibly, and tugged at a lock of loose hair. "Yes…quite. But I've done that now…so, if you'll excuse me, Dai…Mistress! Er – excuse me."

The poor boy turned and fled.

Daine stared after him in amazement. What in…

"Numair!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Why were you so…"

A hot mouth came crashing down on hers. Unable to hold back a muffled sound, she closed her eyes instinctively and wound both arms around his back. Numair slid his hands forcefully into her hair, the urgency of the kiss pushing her head back into his palms. Daine shuddered as his lips moved across her cheek, his teeth scraping gently against her skin, nipping at her lobe. Words of love, of possessiveness, of desire, were muttered fiercely into her ear. Stunned by the unexpected embrace, all she could do was tighten her grip and savour the familiar feel and taste of him. It might have frightened her – the ferocity in the passion – had it been anyone else. But everything about Numair communicated safety to her body: the tracing fingertips, the seeking mouth, the rough scrape of an unshaven jaw.

When he finally drew back, looking down at her intensely, Daine could do little more than pant for breath. Large hands stroked comfortingly down her arms, wrapping steadily about her fingers.

"Daine," Numair spoke hoarsely. "We need to talk."

_He was going to withdraw from her again._

It was at that moment – feeling torn between desire and frustration – that Daine determined she would go through with tonight's plan…no matter how mortifying it was.

"Yes," she agreed slowly, the word wavering a little. Stepping back through the open doorway, she gestured for him to follow her. He did so, his large form immediately rendering her chamber to uncomfortably small proportions. Wiping her hands surreptitiously against her bodice, Daine exhaled shortly and closed the door. Turning, she leaned against it and closed her eyes, in preparation for whatever mental blow he cast.

"Daine." Numair's voice was gentle. "Open your eyes, sweetling. You look as if you're to have a tooth pulled." His tone altered, becoming more serious. "You know I'd never hurt you."

Letting her lashes part, still feeling rather sick with nerves and hopelessness, Daine looked up at him. Perhaps seeing her misery, he at once reached for her, pulling her into a loose embrace and resting his cheek on her hair.

"Don't look like that," Numair murmured softly. "Everything's just fine, my magelet. That's what I wanted to talk to you about…"

At a second knock on the door, they both frowned and pulled apart slightly. Numair directed a questioning frown at her.

"Were you expecting someone?"

Daine suddenly had a horrible premonition, and found that she was unable to speak.

"I swear to Mithros, if that's _him_ back again…" Numair strode to the entrance, and yanked on the latch.

The wood fell back to reveal a tooth-filled smile. An elderly palace aide sketched a salute at the mage.

"How do, sir, how do?" he announced jovially, before swinging a bright gaze in Daine's direction. "I've brought the young lady's ale, as requested," he nodded, waving a full tray about precariously.

Numair looked back at Daine, his expression a blend of curiosity, amusement and slight disapproval. "Since when do you drink ale in your chambers?" he asked, warily accepting the flask and goblets.

Daine's mouth opened and closed again. She shook her head, fighting the desire to laugh off her nerves. Goddess, this was going to be a disaster. She could feel it in her blood.

Numair had pressed a handful of coins on the overly grateful servant, and was attempting to bid him good tidings. Finally managing to close the door, he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and grinned at her.

"I was afraid he might become a permanent fixture in your room! Very friendly people you've got supplying your secret ale habit."

"It's a gift from Alanna," Daine explained weakly, and at least semi-truthfully. "She thought I might enjoy it."

Numair's gaze had sharpened and he looked suspiciously at the flask in his hand. "Did she, indeed," he said mildly. Setting the goblets carefully aside, he flicked a glance at her, then plucked out the cork and raised the drink to his nose. "Mithros!" he exclaimed, head jerking back. "That certainly isn't ale. If I didn't know our Champion so well, I'd think she was trying to get you under the weather, magelet." He was still frowning at the pomegranate concoction, and so missed the flush creeping up her neck.

_Consequences be damned. She was going to flog Alanna and Thayet the first chance she got…_

Numair placed the flask on the windowsill and quirked a rueful eyebrow. "Perhaps I should have a word with Alanna about appropriate 'gifts'. I think she's been keeping company with George far too long."

"You wouldn't like some, then," Daine surmised half-heartedly, feeling more relieved than anything else.

The mage took another doubtful look at the offering. "Not right now, no," he returned, definite humour in his voice now. "Would _you_ like to try it?"

"No!" she refused, too quickly. "No…thank you."

Although it might not have been a bad idea, if it made people feel less uncomfortable. Daine shifted, distinctly ill-at-ease. She wished the whole evening was over with. Actually, if things became any more awkward, she would be wishing she'd never come to Tortall at all.

"Well," Numair reached out and laced his fingers back through hers. "As I was saying, magelet…"

"Are you hungry?" Daine blurted, interrupting him. She couldn't stand the thought of another conversation about how inappropriate their togetherness was to other people.

He looked faintly taken aback. "Hungry?"

Breaking free of his hold, she walked to the trinket table by the window and lifted a second tray. "I asked for some food to be sent up," she explained, blushing slightly under his inquisitive look. "I…missed supper."

"So did I," Numair offered absently.

"You'll want something to eat then," Daine persisted, eyeing the platters that Thayet had prepared herself. She wasn't exactly certain what it was, and was pretty sure she didn't want to know. It didn't _look_ too bad though. She'd had to push Kitten away from it earlier, and the young dragon had developed notoriously fussy tastes lately.

Smiling at her and shrugging slightly, Numair reached for a plate.

* * *

Several hours later, Daine stood outside Alanna's chambers, seething. She was embarrassed and she was furious. And the Lioness was darned lucky that she had a healing Gift, and that several inches of solid oak stood between them. 

This was entirely the fault of her friends, Daine decided crossly. She hadn't even wanted to buy the gods-cursed arrowroot! And the reaction it provoked in Numair had hardly been the one she'd nervously expected – had been told to expect.

She'd never seen someone's throat swell up that fast before.

The door opened a crack and Alanna peered warily around the opening. Seeing Daine's glare, she began to speak hastily.

"Numair's fine. He'll be out in just a moment."

Daine's scowl grew more aggressive.

"All right," Alanna conceded. "The arrowroot may not have been the best idea."

"The best idea? I almost killed him!" Daine snapped.

"Well…"

"No more ideas!" the girl continued fiercely. "I'd rather that nobody ever touched me again!"

"Oh, I don't know if I like the sound of that," Numair protested lightly, following Alanna into the hallway. His voice was still rough, the ruddy skin of his throat a little red. "Seems like a tragic waste to me," he teased.

Daine slipped into his open arms. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously, running one palm over his hard chest, feeling the movement of his breaths.

He hugged her to him. "I'm fine, magelet. It's been a rather more dramatic evening than I'd envisioned, but I'm perfectly recovered." He nodded at Alanna over Daine's curly head. "Thank you."

Alanna at least had the grace to look embarrassed. She coughed, and muttered an unintelligible reply.

Numair pressed his lips to Daine's forehead briefly. "We ought to leave Alanna to her other patients."

Daine nodded and, as he picked up her hand, cast one last look of mortification at the Lioness. Alanna's face was frankly apologetic. She tried to nod reassuringly but neither of them could call the plan a success thus far.

* * *

Sarra had oftentimes said that things got worse before they got better. If that was true, Daine thought, as she scanned the ruins of her bedchamber with dismay, she hoped that things got a _lot _better, and hastily. 

Her blankets were piled in disarray on the bed; stuffing slipping from the mattress to the floor. Shirts and breeches were tossed with abandonment about the room, and smeared with a mysterious substance. A puddle of water from an overturned decanter spread slowly along the floorboards.

"What in Mithros…" Numair bent to lift a candelabrum from the floor, still-glowing candles clinging to their posts.

Thayet coughed quietly from behind them, meeting Daine's overwhelmed glance with a slight wince.

"Was there an attack?" Numair demanded, stepping closer to Daine.

"No, no," the queen refuted hastily. She bit her lip once, before forcing a small chuckle. "Unfortunately, Daine, it seems that Zek found your flask of…ale. He became a little…rambunctious."

"Rambunctious…" Numair repeated dazedly; eyes sweeping the chaotic scene.

"Is Zek all right?" Daine asked, horrified.

"Oh, yes," Thayet confirmed quickly, seemingly relievedto havesomething positive to contribute. "He's fast asleep in Kalasin's room. Snoring away," she added with false cheer.

Daine closed her eyes and tried to think of simpler things. Like spidren assaults. Or battles with deranged, flying egomaniacs.

"I'll just leave you to it," Thayet continued, staring warily at the silent girl. "My attendants are preparing a new bedchamber for you. Or, of course, there's nothing wrong with Numair's room."

With that audacious statement, the queen darted away, leaving two goggling mages behind her.

Numair closed his mouth and the door at the same time.

"Magelet," he began cautiously, tugging on his horsetail with one hand. "What in Chaos' name is going on?"

And, at that very moment, the music began.

As the melody drifted up through the open window, Numair's entire body stiffened. With shadowed eyes, he stalked toward the window and peered out at the courtyard below.

"Daine?"

She dropped to the edge of the disheveled bed and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to her knees.

"Yes?" she asked despondently.

"Do you know why there's a fiddler playing the Carthaki execution ballad outside of your window?"

"What?" Daine looked up in disbelief.

Numair's mouth was taut. "This is the song that Ozorne liked to have played at public executions." He unlatched the window and pulled it closed, dimming the sound of the strings below.

Of course it was.

Face bright red, Daine jerked to her feet and glared at nothing in particular.

"I don't believe this!" she half-shouted, humiliated and aggravated beyond belief. "I told them this was a half-witted idea! I knew I should never have gone along with it!"

Numair took a step toward her, but stopped at her angry movement. "Gone along with what?" he asked carefully.

"The plan!"

"The plan? The plan for what?" The mage's face was concerned.

"Your seduction!" Daine blurted out, then paused, feeling her cheeks heat further violently.

Numair went perfectly still. His throat worked a few times. When he spoke, his voice was expressionless. "My…seduction?" He looked about the ruined room. "You were trying to seduce me?"

Daine glared at him silently, daring him to mock her.

Numair met her gaze, and they watched each other for long minutes. Then he nodded slowly, removed his outer robes and dropped down to take her previous seat on the bed.

"All right, then," he said blandly. "Commence whenever you're ready."

Daine blinked, unsure how to take this sudden turn in the exchange. "Commence…with what?"

"Seducing me." Numair sounded unconcerned. "Although you didn't need to go to all this trouble, you know. You could seduce me just by looking at me, sweetling."

She was momentarily speechless. Then ire sparked in her eyes. "This isn't funny, Numair!"

His expression changed at once, and Daine stood, transfixed by the love she saw there.

"No, it isn't funny," he agreed somberly, reaching out to tug her gently to the bed beside him. "It isn't funny at all that I've made you so miserable. And it certainly isn't funny that I've let people I don't care a damn about dictate my relationship with the woman I love so much."

Daine's hands moved in his, and she watched his face.

"And I do love you, magelet. More than I can believe sometimes." Numair cupped her jaw and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth. "That's what I came here to tell you tonight." His mouth quirked then, and a faint flush lit his cheeks. "Well…that, and the fact that I won't let other people's opinions matter anymore."

Daine looked up at him quickly, feeling redness creep up her own neck.

"You mean…" she hesitated.

"I mean," Numair said firmly, his hands gently shaping her hips and sliding up her back. "That if anyone has any comment to make about us, they'll have to deal with you."

She laughed spontaneously. "Me?" she asked teasingly.

He grinned. "Of course. You're the scarier one. I'm only mildly ashamed to admit it."

Daine gently nibbled at his chin. "I don't know," she murmured. "I think poor Dawkins might disagree."

Numair's black brows immediately snapped together. "Yes…Dawkins…"

"Is entirely innocent and probably very confused now," she stated matter-of-factly.

He paused, nuzzling her neck. "I think I should have a word with Alanna tomorrow." Then he tipped Daine backward onto the mussed covers, rolling swiftly atop her. Starting to trail a line of burning kisses down her throat, he slid his fingers along her belly in a tender caress, before reaching for the laces of her bodice. Grinning into her bright, desire-clouded eyes, he finished: "I need to thank her."

And, by the time the sun rose on two entwined bodies, flickering over lazy limbs and loving kisses, Daine could only agree.


End file.
